A little ficlet that I promised a friend that I'd write for her. I may continue it if there's a demand but, you know, the economy these days... /shot

Disclaimer as per usual; I don't own any characters, but sometimes I wish I did 'cause then they'd get actual story lines and maybe some character development /shot again

You Know My Order...

It was a sunny spring day in New York City winter's chill still lingering in the air, the north wind blowing through the streets. A twenty year old Kurt Hummel shivered and pulled his Marc Jacobs (personalised by him of course) coat tighter around his lithe frame as he walked briskly down the sidewalk towards his favourite hangout when he had a gap period to kill. Being a second year student at the prestigious New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts was exhausting yet he often found himself having more downtime than before. Perhaps he wasn't practicing enough; his pirouettes and grand-pliés could always be improved, not to mention his acting and singing.

Truth be told, he was feeling quite... uninspired. Sure, New York was the city of life, the city that never slept, but after living there for two years out in Bushwick with Rachel and Santana the initial awe and excitement he had felt had gradually decreased until the pallor of normality overtook them. The Empire state building? Cool. Times Square? Busy as hell. Central Park? Nice, but too many joggers. Broadway? An attainable dream. His lips quirked up in a small smirk as he thought back to the time when he and Rachel had sneaked onto the stage and sung the duet For Good from Wicked. Good times, he thought to himself and let a small sigh escape him. As if the wind had heard him, a cold breeze brushed past him stinging his exposed face and causing his eyes to water.

Nowadays she was almost nowhere to be found. A hasty hug goodbye and a peck on the cheek in the morning before she rushed off early to NYADA to get some more practicing done —being the anal retentive perfectionist that she was — and not getting in until late leaving both him and Santana in the dust. Kurt shook his head slightly trying to clear the negative thoughts but they clung to him stubbornly. Feeling, well, abandoned by one of your best friends is never a nice thing. He knew Santana had noticed as she'd cut back on her blunt (and most often bitchy) remarks and digs, occasionally lending him an ear when he needed one. And for that he was grateful.

The small brass bell hanging above the door tinkled as Kurt opened the door to the little coffee shop that had become his safe haven. It was a cosy place, very hole-in-the-wall yet it always seemed to have just enough customers. The interior was a mixture of warm shades of red, orange, and deep mahogany bringing to mind crisp autumn days where the leaves had just reached the peak of their turning and had begun to fall. There were a couple of booths against the wall plastered with pictures of places, people, and inspirational quotes, the rest of the space was dedicated to a jumble of mismatching chairs and tables that somehow still fit together to create an atmosphere of controlled chaos.

Kurt smiled and closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of coffee and baked goods deeply before heaving a contented sigh and opening them again as he approached the counter. What was he going to order this time...? Not that he ever really changed his order, it had always been the same. On some rare occasion he'd take a shot of caramel or noisette in his coffee but only if he felt the urge to splash out or needed something extra to comfort him. "Hello, may I take your order?" A smooth voice snapped him out of his thoughts and his eyes focused on the smiling barista in front of him.

He'd seen him the very the first time that he'd stumbled across Tony's Coffee a few months ago. Those hazel eyes that he'd locked onto always seemed to have that special sparkle of someone who was constantly on the verge of cracking a smile or a joke. Boy, did he look cute when he smiled. Whenever Kurt would find a place in the shop, his eyes were always inexplicably drawn towards the good humoured, black haired barista. Watching, observing, committing small details to memory: the way his haired curled at the nape of his neck, the colour of his hazel eyes, how often he had the stubble scruff going on, the length of his eyelashes, and the sound of his laugh as he spoke to customers and co-workers alike.

"Actually, let me guess," the man before him said, his eyes twinkling, "a grande non-fat mocha? Anything special in it today?"

"I- oh. Uh... yes, thank you and no, nothing extra," Kurt replied rather taken aback, his blue eyes wide with shock and wonder. "You know my order..." he mumbled dazedly as he watched the curly haired barista make his order. Had he really been there that many times? Or was he just that predictable?

"Of course I know your order, you're practically a regular," he chuckled and grinned sending a wave of heat rushing through Kurt's face, tinging his cheeks with pink, "would you like anything else with that order?"

"Ah- no. Thank you," Kurt replied with a small smile as he reached for his wallet.

"Don't. Your coffee's on me... Kurt."

"How—"

"How did I know your name? I overheard your friend call you that. It's a nice name, it suits you."

"Th- thank you," was all Kurt could muster. His head was spinning. Well. This was certainly something new and definitely welcome. Cocking his head to the side he smiled and said, "It's hardly fair that you know who I am yet I don't know the first thing about you."

"Well, we'll have to do something about that, won't we? Oh, by the way, my name's Blaine," he said with a wink and a grin further flustering Kurt who blushed profusely before scurrying off to an empty table with his steaming cup of mocha.

Kurt's heart was racing, he could physically feel it thumping in his chest as if it were trying to break out of his body. Unbidden his eyes turned once more towards the counter where the barista — Blaine — was serving another customer. What had he meant when he said that they'd have to do something about them not knowing each other? Unless... lifting up his cup he saw that something was scrawled on his napkin. A phone number. A small smirk made it's way onto his face. This was more like it.